Saturday, August 24, 2013

Here's a relic from author and underground comix historian Patrick Rosenkranz's headshop Free People's Touching Company. This radical longhair lodge located on the corner of SW 12th and Stark in downtown Portland, Oregon was in operation from 1969 until 1971. During that time Rosenkranz became the target of both local and federal law enforcement for peddling subversive funny books and questionable smoking devices that are now as common as bubblegum. More recently he wrote the introduction to Entartete Kunts. Wink, wink.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

14 year old Dread is very excited today. 41 year old Dread is a little nervous. And you, dear reader, reap the rewards of this emotional conundrum. Allow me to explain. As you can see from the photo above, Danzig rolls into Portland this evening as part of the 25th Anniversary Tour, featuring Doyle on guitar. It's no secret that I worship everything Glenn Danzig released from the Cough Cool 7" in 1977 through Lucifuge in 1990. What you probably don't know is that 1990 also marked the last time I saw him perform live...until tonight. I saw him twice in '88 and twice in '89 but my last show was on October 31st at the Capitol Theater- a fantastic 1920s architectural wonder turned 70s porn theater, turned concert hall- in Port Chester, New York (with Trouble opening!). Naturally, my expectations were...how do I say this?...exalted. And Danzig promptly dashed all hopes with a bummer show and scarcely a mention of that most sacred of American holidays. He more or less went through the motions as if it was just any other night of the year and delivered a muscular but ultimately tedious performance that reminded me why punk was invented to destroy turgid stadium rock in the first place. The Ouroboros occasionally gags on its tail. And here comes your schadenfreude money shot, darling reader. In tortured anticipation of tonight's "reunion," I exhumed this embarrassing scrawl from 1988. Yes, it is a bad drawing in every way. But I've never forgotten the impact Danzig had on me as a kid and gazing at this crude negative space nightmare brought back a flood of memories. For instance, I distinctly recall laying a quarter on the paper to get that unusually round moon. Gah! I also distinctly recall referencing that wooden cross from the back of The Accused record More Fun Than An Open Casket Funeral which came out a year earlier. Ack! Apparently this was my hasty teenage celebration of the man's legacy in ink. Tonight we celebrate his legacy again. Finally. Wish me luck.

Monday, August 19, 2013

If you missed my interview on Metal Assault Radio this past weekend, it's now streaming HERE! The show is entirely comprised of songs I personally selected to highlight Entartete Kunts. Thanks to Tricia and Jesse for supporting my endeavors and putting together such a killer show. Enjoy!

Sunday, August 18, 2013

On this day 40 years ago...an idyllic summer afternoon drive became a nightmare. In honor of that seminal day of horror, I present this old scrawl from the crypt circa 1992. This is a pencil drawing (several actually) that I mounted onto a hand silk-screened background. I used yellow black light paint on illustration board and made a screen of the red psych pattern that was printed over the yellow, begging the question: who will survive and what will be left of them? Hail to Tobe Hooper, Wayne Bell, Kim Henkel, Gunnar Hansen, Marilyn Burns, Paul A. Partain, Edwin Neal, Jim Siedow and the rest of the saw family. "What's that stench???"

Thursday, August 08, 2013

My slightly cross-eyed siren of the static age. Possessed icon of lunar frenzy. Proud insatiable Every Woman. Archetypal sad reward at the end of the American night. Interstate diner floozy too busy lighting a smoke to fasten all those pesky blouse buttons. Happy to lean in lower than necessary when sliding burnt offerings across gleaming Formica. Glad to lend a hand to a kind wayward stranger. You, with lusty thighs defiant. Harbinger of pantyhose. The bastard cancer devoured you and yet, still, you remain more alive than many. I can only hope you took the slow dread of disintegration with that same pleased, swollen, crocodilian pout that - even now, at the most inappropriate of moments - causes something to stir and flutter deep below the belt. He Who Kills has called. Take it smiling. Take it easy. Farewell, Dark Beauty.